


to the lights in the sky, I'm yours

by Resamille



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Aro/Ace Akaashi, Assassins & Hitmen, Bodyguard Bokuto, But mostly just weird magic lore, M/M, Magic, One-Sided Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Specifically of the electric kind, Violence and mentions of bad things, assassin kuroo, it's complicated - Freeform, listen i don't know what's happening anymore, mostly in the past, some odd soul bond kinda stuff, there's some unrequited pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: You are one of few with electricity buzzing through your veins, static humming in your blood, lightning ready at your fingertips. Your Aptitude is your lifeblood, and it flows through you with power and strength and possibility. With it, comes access to the elite: training at the Academy, connections with some of the most prominent names, a chance at meeting the Akaashi family.Or, maybe you don't want to meet them. The Akaashi family has its own secrets, hidden under the surface, and shaking the hand of an Akaashi means baring yourself before them entirely. And if an Akaashi has control over your mind, then a Bokuto has everything else covered. Prominent bodyguards to the Akaashi line, members of the Bokuto family are powerful in their own ways and highly trained.Really, it'd be a very, very bad idea to try to kill an Akaashi.And yet, that's what this story is about, isn't it, Kuroo Tetsurou?





	to the lights in the sky, I'm yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [datekogyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/datekogyo/gifts).



> electric magic concepts stolen 100% from the Michael Vey series. You can pry Akaashi as Taylor from my cold dead hands.  
> that bond shit is nicked from the Seven Realms series. I think I went a lil overboard with the whole "bodyguards are always in love with their bonded charge but can't love them" but instead of causing Akaashi and Bo physical pain I instead went hella super indulgent w/ Aro/ace Akaashi and I have 0 regrets tbh.
> 
> happy birthday bobbo. hope you enjoy you little furry shit.

Akaashi Keiji, age 24, is the heir to the Akaashi estate, and, like his father before him, is one of the most powerful men in the world.

Bokuto Koutarou comes from a long line of bodyguards dedicated to the protection of the Akaashi family line, bound heart and body to the preservation of the rarest and most coveted Aptitude known to man.

Koutarou had known his life's course was planned for him long before he was even born. He'd grown up alongside Keiji, their one-year age gap doing little to dissuade friendship. Koutarou has spent nearly every day at Keiji's side, excluding the five years he was sent to the Academy to train while Keiji continued private lessons.

And even if he misses the relative freedom of the Academy, misses his friends there—well, one, in particular—Koutarou always knew that his life was meant to be this, nothing more and nothing less. He's not complaining. It's a good life. Even if it's a little, well, lonely sometimes.

But not right now.

Right now, Keiji's deft fingers are adjusting Koutarou's tie, smoothing over Koutarou's collar until Keiji is satisfied he looks presentable.

Keiji's gaze flicks up to his face, impassive but calculating. “You'd look much more official if you wore your hair down.”

Koutarou grins at him an shrugs. “I like it like this.”

Keiji hums. “It _does_ fit you.” He pats at Koutarou's shoulders. “Come on. We've stalled enough.”

Koutarou pouts. “Do we have to?”

Keiji is already halfway across the room. “Well, _you_ don't have to come if you don't want to. My father insists on my presence.”

Koutarou hurries after him, lingering at Keiji's shoulder as he leads his way through familiar halls towards the ballroom. “Where you go, I go.”

Keiji sighs, barely audible. “I am well aware.” He hesitates at the double doors leading into the ballroom.

His expression is still neutral, but there's a tense twist to his features that tells Koutarou he's anxious. It might have taken Koutarou years, but he's learned to read Keiji well. Meanwhile, Keiji's never had trouble reading Koutarou. He's never had trouble reading anyone, given his Aptitude.

“Would you like me to...” Koutarou offers his hand out.

Keiji's eyes fall closed. He takes in a breath. “No, it's alright. I should... Stay on top of things, tonight. No cutting corners.”

“Okay,” Koutarou says. “I'll be here if you need me.”

Keiji doesn't open his eyes yet, but the corner of his mouth twitches. Then, he opens his eyes and begins to tug on his gloves.“I know you will.”

Koutarou feels something tighten in his chest—Keiji's well-being is tied to Koutarou's own, just as Koutarou's sister and father are bound to Keiji's father. They'd completed the ritual when Koutarou was twenty after he'd returned from the Academy, and since then, there's been a place under his ribs reserved exclusively for Keiji. He still remembers the sting of lightning and scent of static, the added taste of magic ripe in the air.

He remembers the first time he felt Keiji, a tentative press at his mind. Keiji's Aptitude allows him to read others easily, but they can never respond to him. Keiji had nearly cried at the joy on Koutarou's face when he first realized he could _feel_ Keiji, a constant comforting pressure in the space next to his heart. Sometimes, like now, he can feel it more profoundly than usual.

Something has Keiji worried. Koutarou keeps his gaze carefully trained on his charge, worry, in turn, eating at him.

Suddenly, Keiji scowls, and starts towards the door, determination set into his shoulders. “Let's go.”

“Keiji?” Koutarou asks tentatively. But Keiji's already through the doors, leaving Koutarou to trail after him.

The event isn't especially grand, and there's certainly not enough people present to have Koutarou on edge, concerned about Keiji's physical safety. But many more than a few people and Keiji can get overwhelmed reading stray emotions, and Koutarou wonders if that's what Keiji's concerned about. Maybe he read something bad in one of the guests, but he would have told Koutarou if that was the case.

So maybe Koutarou is overreacting. Wouldn't be the first time, as much as he hates to admit it. He's lucky that Keiji is as patient with his occasional paranoia as he is with Koutarou's low points.

He's lucky in a lot of respects. Cards, for one. Unfortunately, that means he's unlucky at other things closer to Koutarou's heart.

Koutarou tries to pay more attention to his surroundings as he trails Keiji through the sparse crowd. He's making the rounds, politely conversing with important guests, keeping up appearances. He keeps his gloves on when he shakes hands, for both their guests' sakes and Keiji's. They're lined with an insulator between the fabric, enough to keep Keiji from prying into others' minds at the contact and protect himself from unwanted thoughts.

Everyone here knows who Keiji is. Everyone here wants him as much as they're scared of him.

Which sends Koutarou's mind back to wandering. He's a little smug about the fact that he'll never have to share Keiji. Maybe one day Keiji will get married, perhaps, probably at the insistence of his father, but Keiji's dodged engagements so far despite pressure for an heir to pass on his Aptitude to, and Koutarou's not entirely upset about the fact he gets to monopolize Keiji's friendship.

He's not quite sure what he'd do with himself if Keiji decides he doesn't need Koutarou anymore. Which is an outrageous thought, but one that nags at Koutarou regardless.

Keiji looks sideways at him, though his ongoing conversation with the Karasuno representative, Daichi, doesn't falter. Koutarou does his best to send Keiji a small smile to reassure him, and tries to redirect his thoughts towards happier things.

Koutarou glances around the room. The far wall is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a beautiful view of the skyline. Fukurodani Tower isn't the tallest building on the block, not with Shiratorizawa Inc. across the street, looming, but it's certainly impressive. The view always takes Koutarou's breath away.

If he's honest, though, he misses the view from the Academy. The training facilities were out in the middle of no where, and as much as Koutarou loves the city, he has fond memories of sneaking onto the roof with Kuroo to watch the stars. Without the bleed of city lights into the sky, entirely new constellations were visible.

Keiji nudges him subtly, breaking Koutarou out his nostalgia.

 _Sorry_ , Koutarou thinks, knowing that Keiji can't quite get actual words without touching him, but hoping the general thought was comprehensible.

Koutarou's gaze lifts to the room again, this time actually doing his job. He scans the crowds, looking for anything out of place. It's just a get-together for the powerful individuals and corporations, designed by the Akaashi family to help network. Also possibly to market off Keiji's Aptitude as well as his relationship status (read: single). Koutarou doesn't expect anyone to cause trouble. Not at something this informal.

He feels a smile quirk on his lips that he considers wearing a suit _informal_. Such a far cry from the Academy.

What he _does_ catch sight of in his survey makes him do a double-take. He's not even sure how he _saw_ him in the crowd, when he was so good at being invisible at school, but he supposes the bad dye job might give it away.

Koutarou starts towards Kenma before he realizes what he's doing. He over his shoulder at Keiji, trying to look pitiful.

Keiji frowns slightly, but then again, that might just be his resting facial expression. Sometimes it's hard to tell. He gives Koutarou a single nod, and then turns back to his conversation.

Koutarou grins and slips away from Keiji's side to track down Kenma in the crowd.

He finds him picking at a bowl of fruit on one of the buffet tables, stealing grapes to pop into his mouth. He startles when Koutarou calls him.

“Koutarou,” Kenma greets, once he's recovered. “Hello.”

“I didn't realize you'd be here!” Koutarou cheers. “Did you come with anyone? Have you met Keiji? Is Kuroo here?”

Kenma's gaze goes a little wide at the onslaught, and he stays quiet for a moment, seemingly processing. Ha, processing. “No to all of those.”

“It's good to see you!” Koutarou says. “Been a while.”

Kenma nods. “Five years.”

Koutarou rubs the back of his neck. “Christ, that long, huh?”

Kenma nods minutely again.

“It feels like I was only with you guys, like, last year. Things kinda blend together here. Not that I don't love working with Keiji! But everything's kinda the same.” Koutarou lets out a little huff. “I miss getting into trouble with you and Kuroo.”

Kenma makes a face. “You and Kuro were the ones getting in trouble. My record is clean.”

“Only because you hacked the system!” Koutarou accuses lightly. “Speaking of, what do you do now? You wanted to do programming, right?”

“Ah,” Kenma says softly. He ducks his gaze behind his bangs. “Something... like that, yes.”

“Any big projects you're working on?” Koutarou asks, leaning closer into Kenma's space.

“Um. Nothing... I, uh...”

“Secret stuff?” Koutarou asks with a pout. “Aww. I was hoping to get some insider info.”

Kenma glances up with what might be a humored smile. “You don't even know who I work for.”

Koutarou shrugs. “Secret stuff is cool to hear about no matter whose it is.”

Kenma's eyes flash with a hint of danger. “What if they were your secrets?”

Koutarou meets his gaze for a moment, and then he shrugs again before puffing out his chest. “I don't have any. I'm an open book.”

Kenma laughs at that, though it sounds a bit grating to Koutarou. Bitter, maybe. “You're too honest, Koutarou.”

“It's not a _bad_ thing, is it?” Koutarou asks, deflating some.

“No,” Kenma replies with a small shake of his head. “Not at all.”

Kenma's gaze flicks absently to the wall of windows, and then back to Koutarou.

“So what have you been up to since you graduated?” Koutarou asks.

If Kenma replies, Koutarou can't hear it. Between the sharp pang of anxiety from his bond with Keiji and the _sizzle-snap_ indicative of one of his relative's warnings, Koutarou doesn't process much beyond his need to get to Keiji.

 

Someone screams, and Koutarou whirls and shoves his way through the crowds. Belatedly, he processes the other sounds of an assault—the commotion of the room, the sound of one of the huge windows shattering, chairs thudding to the floor as they're overturned.

Koutarou doesn't bother apologizing to the feet he steps on or the shoulders he shoves against as he makes his way towards Keiji. If Keiji is hurt, and Koutarou _wasn't there_...

Keiji must sense his worry, because he nudges at Koutarou's bond, the extent of their two-way communication, but Koutarou feels relief flood him all the same. Even so, he rushes to get to Keiji.

There are the shouts of guards over the cacophony of guests, now, and a moment later Koutarou finds Keiji flanked by two of the Akaashi family guards.

Keiji calmly goes to him, pressing a gloved hand against Koutarou's arm. Koutarou feels the buzz of electricity under his veins, and he looks to Keiji for instruction.

There's another crash, and the scent of something burning makes Koutarou crinkle his nose even as he moves to protect Keiji with his body. “We need to move.”

Keiji's eyes dart around the room, calculating. “I'm not the target.”

“We don't know that,” Koutarou says. “We need to go.”

Keiji's expression doesn't change as Koutarou nudges at his shoulder, directing him back the way they'd come in. Most of the guests have since fled, and aside from the guards and debris, escaping to the hall is relatively easy.

“Keiji, are you accounted for?”

“I'm quite fine,” Keiji answers his father.

Next to Keiji's father is one of his own guards from the Bokuto family. Koutarou's father's shirt is in tatters, singed where he absorbed what must have been a bolt of electricity. Koutarou scowls at the implications.

“We should move,” Koutarou says again.

No one argues, but as they start towards the stairwell, there's the sound of another attack, and all the lights in the hallway flicker. Koutarou keeps his eyes trained on each doorway as they pass, just waiting for assassins to leap through. It's not the first time there's been an attempt, but they've certainly never been caught _this_ unprepared.

Koutaou's eyes flick to his father's back, where the skin is raw and red from the force of the shot. Whoever is after the Akaashi family has someone with a powerful Aptitude on their side. That doesn't bode well, considering anyone who has this much control is likely to have had training. On the other hand, if they went to the Academy, there's a chance they can be tracked once the Akaashi family is safe.

Koutarou hears the shot fire before he entirely recognizes where it could possibly come from. Automatically, he jumps to protect Keiji, wrapping his body around Keiji's slim frame in attempt to cover as much of him as possible from potential shots.

There's a grunt at Koutarou's side, and he realizes his father has once again absorbed the shot, electricity fizzling before it reaches it's target. Keiji was right. The attacker is clearly aiming at Keiji's father.

“They're just going to keep tracking us,” Koutarou observes.

“Not for long,” his father says. “I already sent your sister after them.”

There's that noise again—like thunder if it were condensed to a single spark of sound—and the familiarity of it makes Koutarou's chest ache. Keiji glances over at him, concerned, and this time, Koutarou trusts Keiji's judgment and doesn't curl so tightly around him. He wants to see. Needs to make sure.

He resists blinking. If he does, he'll miss it, especially if the shot is—

Koutarou's father turns and there's a hum in the air as he snatches the electricity out the air. Keiji lets out a faint groan, his own Aptitude affected, too, and the lights flicker again. Koutarou watches as the shot—a single projectile, slim and painful to look at with how bright it is, perfectly formed and perfectly aimed—seems to hit an invisible wall against his father's chest.

Sparks shoot out around them as Koutarou's father wears down. Koutarou should take the next shot, if there is one. Even if it hurts—knowing, that is, not the shot itself. Betrayal snakes its way around his ribs, hissing as it bites into his heart with venomous fangs.

Faintly, Koutarou hears the sound of some sort of blast. It's likely his sister, discharging electricity in an effort to fend off the attacker.

Koutarou's father reaches up to mess with the earpiece fitted there. Koutarou himself usually keeps his tucked away until emergencies, since he's usually only ever communicating with Keiji and not any other guards. Now, though, he resolves to wear it at all times at events like these like the rest of his family. Just in case.

“He got away,” Koutarou's father growls. “But everyone is safe.”

Koutarou nods, feeling numb even though he was never the one getting hit with electricity.

Keiji leans against Koutarou's shoulder, wilting slightly. The Bokuto family Aptitude can be hard to control, and occasionally it interferes with that of the Akaashi family, wearing down their minds as they steal power from their surroundings. It's what makes them good bodyguards in the first place, the ability to protect against other Aptitudes, but it does have downsides.

“Let's get out of here,” Koutarou says to the crown of Keiji's hair. “You need rest.”

“I'm fine,” Keiji says tiredly.

Koutarou wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Let's go home.”

Keiji nods and lets Koutarou guide him after the rest of their party, out into the night. Once outside of the building, they're immediately flocked by a team of guards as they make their way to the waiting cars.

Safely inside their convoy, Keiji leans his head against Koutarou's shoulder, absently fiddling with his fingers. It's a habit, Koutarou's noticed, especially when he's stressed. But Keiji would tell him—if he ever needed anything. Keiji tells him everything he needs to know. Koutarou trusts Keiji with his life, despite the irony of it, and if he is going to say something, he'll say it. Koutarou will wait for him, if need be. After all, Keiji waited for him, while Koutarou was at the Academy.

The thought pulls Koutarou's mouth into a frown. There's only one person Koutarou knows who has projectile bolts that good. Knows them far too well. Trained with them, day after day after day, playing immune target for a close friend who'd asked him for extra practice.

There's a _chance_ it's not Kuroo Tetsurou who tried to kill Koutarou's charge.

But it's a very slim chance. As much as Koutarou would like it to not be his best friend who just attacked them... He doesn't have much hope.

Keiji stops wringing his hands together long enough to pat Koutarou's leg comfortingly.

 

Koutarou dreams of the touch of lightning, heat erupting over his body before it dissipates. How many times had he helped Kuroo perfect that shot, only to ultimately have it turned against him? At least, then, he knows how to face this. Well, not on the emotional front, but Koutarou is confident in his ability to assure Keiji's safety.

The sun is just starting the lighten the sky when Koutarou gives up on trying to get a decent night's rest and wanders sleepily into the kitchen.

Keiji is already sitting at the island, scrolling through news articles on his phone while he sips at a mug of clearly inferior-to-coffee tea. One of the great things about their friendship preceding work relations is that it was _easy_ to be together, and that extended to living conditions. It made Koutarou's job as a bodyguard easier when he shared an apartment with Keiji, anyway.

Koutarou suspects that the fact Keiji was always within close range to his ritual-bound guard may have also had some sway with his father allowing him to move into the apartment, a bit further from the rest of the Akaashi family. But Keiji likes his space. Especially from his father. Koutarou can't say he blames him. The man certainly isn't the warm father figure that Koutarou had growing up.

Koutarou lets out a yawn and absently goes to snoop for anything decent in the fridge.

“That mug is for you,” Keiji says without glancing up.

Koutarou makes a face, letting the fridge door swing closed. “It's not earl grey, is it?”

Keiji scoffs. “It's coffee. I added some sugar, but I figured you'd want it black. I heard your thoughts going crazy all night.”

Koutarou has the decency to feel bashful about that. He hadn't meant to keep Keiji up, too, with his problems. Admonished, he goes to retrieve his mug and sips remorsefully at it. “I'm sorry.”

Keiji shakes his head slightly. “I couldn't sleep much, either. I know how to tune you out, normally. And if it really was a problem, I would have just asked you to reel it in.”

Koutarou nods. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Keiji says, a chill seeping into his voice. Then he sighs and locks his phone, placing it face-down on the counter. Koutarou watches as he taps a finger against the rim of his mug in an anxious tick. “Koutarou... could I ask you something?”

Koutarou's brow furrows. “Of course.”

“I...” Keiji stares intently at his fingers, dancing over the mug in a nonsense pattern. “I need you to give me a boost, but I need you to not ask why.”

“Sure,” Koutarou says, and Keiji seems to start. His gaze flicks up to study Koutarou with something akin to surprise in his dark eyes. Koutarou shrugs at him with one shoulder. “Can I finish my coffee, first?”

Keiji's gaze widens, and then he ducks his head to smile. “Yes. I don't need to do it until around ten.”

Koutarou nods. “I could finish a lot of coffees in that time.”

Keiji's shoulders start shaking. Koutarou thinks he might have broken Keiji and moves to set down his coffee and check on him, but before his body catches up with his brain's worry, Keiji lets out a quiet snort. Koutarou realizes he's _laughing_.

Keiji recovers himself in a moment, schooling his features back into something impassive, even though a tiny smile plays at his lips. He hides it by taking a sip of his tea. When he sets his cup down, the mask is firmly back on his expression.

“Do you want to order something?” Keiji offers.

Koutarou hums into his coffee. “Do we have eggs?”

“Some. We'll need groceries, soon.”

“I'll make breakfast,” Koutarou offers, and Keiji nods. “I can go shopping later this week.”

“Thank you, Koutarou.”

Koutarou sets about getting breakfast ready. The morning is quiet and peaceful, reminiscent of countless others like it over the past four years. It's familiar and warm, but for some reason, Koutarou still feels tense.

Keiji yawns, and Koutarou hears the sound of his feet padding on the floor. Keiji absently ruffles his hand through Koutarou's hair, free of product and brushing the tips of his ears. “You should wear it like this more often.”

“Do you like it down?” Koutarou asks as he cooks.

Keiji reaches into the fridge to find something. His voice sounds weird from where his head is in the fridge. “Yes.”

“Do I look hot with it down?” Koutarou teases, glancing out of the corner of his eye just in time to see Keiji narrowly avoid smacking his head on the freezer door above him.

Keiji looks over the fridge door at him, eyes narrows calculatingly. He shrugs with one shoulder. “Objectively, yes, I suppose.”

“Objectively,” Koutarou echoes. That's about as big as a compliment he'll ever get in terms of attractiveness when it comes from Keiji. “What about subjectively?”

“Subjectively, it means you've showered within the past twenty-four hours and haven't had to go outside for anything.”

Koutarou snorts. “That wasn't very subjective.”

Keiji tugs a carton of juice from the fridge. “I don't do subjective.”

“I'll never understand that,” Koutarou admits.

Keiji busies himself next to Koutarou at the counter. “Juice?”

Koutarou nods.

“If it's any consolation, I don't think I'll ever know how you work, either,” Keiji says.

“I wonder if it's an Akaashi thing,” Koutarou muses.

Keiji freezes, and Koutarou reaches out to nudge his wrist to keep him from pouring too much juice into a cup.

“What do you mean?” Keiji asks slowly.

“Sorry,” Koutarou mumbles. “Nothing in particular. Just that your dad's pretty emotionally constipated, too.”

Keiji sets the carton down with forced caution. “He just hides it very well.”

Koutarou shrugs. “You'd know him better than me.”

Keiji turns away to put the juice back. Koutarou hears him mutter something that sounds a lot like _Unfortunately._

“I'm sorry,” Koutarou says again. “Plate?”

Keiji pats at Koutarou's shoulder as he passes by to get plates and utensils. “It's not your fault. I'm just on edge today.”

“Do you have something planned?” Koutarou shovels scrambled eggs onto the plate Keiji hands him.

“Not exactly...” Keiji lets out a hum. “Just...”

“It's okay,” Koutarou says softly. “You don't have to tell me.”

Keiji sighs. “It's not that I don't _want_ to.”

“It's okay,” Koutarou repeats.

Keiji scoffs suddenly. “When did you get so considerate? Aren't I usually the one keeping your head from falling off your shoulders?”

Koutarou shrugs, taking the second plate from Keiji to start piling food on it. “It's my job. You wouldn't want me slacking off, would you?”

“You always give everything your all,” Keiji comments, and then frowns.

The frown stays in place as Koutarou sets the plates on the island. Keiji sets the cups of juice in front of each other their plates and settles across from Koutarou. He's still scowling into his scrambled eggs by the time Koutarou's managed to inhale half the food on his plate.

“Sofethin' wron?” Koutarou asks without swallowing.

Keiji makes a face at him but finally begins to eat. “You were off, last night. You knew the attacker?”

Koutarou downs some juice in order to swallow without dying. He feels a shiver work down his spine. “Yeah, I think so... I think we went to school together.”

Keiji quirks an eyebrow at him, appraising. Koutarou can feel him prodding against his mind, reaching for something more concrete.

Koutarou sighs and leans against his elbow. He feels his brow pull together. “I need to go after him.”

Keiji's eyes widen minutely. “Do you have any proof?” he asks pointedly.

Koutarou lets out a huff. “No. But I'm pretty sure—”

“Whoever he is, he covered his tracks well,” Keiji says mildly. “So unless you're absolutely sure—and I'm not talking about just a _hunch_ , Koutarou—you are _not_ going after someone like some vigilante.”

Koutarou chokes on a sharp inhale. Coughing, he splutters, “Are you _defending_ him?”

Keiji's eyes narrow into something sharp. “I'm keeping you from going after potentially innocent bystanders.” His expression softens. “Besides... I can tell you cared for... whoever it is you think did this.” Keiji bites his lip. “I don't want to force you to make a choice between your job and your friendship.”

Koutarou lets his hands fall angrily against the surface of the counter. “You are _more_ than just a job to me.”

Keiji's expression doesn't change. “I know, and that's the problem. I don't want you to be forced to choose between... Protecting someone you love and protecting me.”

Koutarou turns away, bitter. “How hard is it for you to get that I love you?” he grits out.

“Very,” Keiji bites back. “You're _bound_ to me. You didn't ask for that.”

“I would have,” Koutarou admits, and Keiji jolts slightly. “You're the most important thing in my life, Keiji.”

Koutarou glances up to find Keiji's mouth fallen open in quiet shock. His lip quivers, slightly, and then Koutarou hears the click of his teeth hitting together as he recovers, jaw working. Keiji stands, picking up his plate. “I'm _ruining_ your life, that's what. I'm sorry, Koutarou. I'll be in my office. I'll come for you at ten.”

Koutarou stares furiously down at his hands. He _hates_ fighting with Keiji. It happens, of course, especially when it comes to how much Koutarou _cares_ and how much Keiji doesn't fucking care about _anything_.

Koutarou's eyes sting with angry tears. He knows that's not fair to Keiji, because Keiji does care. And Koutarou gave up on his crush before he even left for the Academy, but he knows he'll always love Keiji far more than Keiji has the capacity to return.

Their friendship has always been easy. It's the parts that go beyond friendship—affection and work and the bond that ties their hearts together, regardless of whether they want it or not. That's where things get rocky.

Koutarou sighs out a groan, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes, and decides he's definitely not going to cry. They'll figure it out, probably. They always have before, and Koutarou feels his anger deflate into self-pity. Even so, he gently tugs at the latent static of the air around him, carefully absorbing the projection of his emotions. Pissed or depressed or none of the above, he's not going to have Keiji reading him all morning. It'll just distract them both.

There's a barely-there brush against their bond. Koutarou inteprets it as the first step towards making up, despite the fact he's resolved to leave Keiji alone and wallow in his own emotions until Keiji comes to get him.

Whatever. Self-care day it is, then.

 

Koutarou blinks, feeling like the room is just a bit too bright. Even with the blinds blocking the brunt of the sunlight coming in through the windows, Koutarou's senses are fuzzy, overwhelmed.

“...outarou? ...okay?”

Koutarou slowly resolves the words he's hearing into processed meaning, and he blinks blearily at Keiji, sitting in front of him cross-legged on Koutarou's bed. The first thing Koutarou notices is that he's shaking.

“Keiji?” he manages. His throat feels dry. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry, Koutarou,” Keiji whispers.

“What—” It's then that Koutarou realizes what's happened.

He recognizes this feeling, like his brain's been rewired and things are just a tiny bit off. He knows eventually that he'll adapt to this new reality, because he's done it before. It doesn't change the fact that Keiji Reset him.

There must have been a reason for it, Koutarou tells his brain before it can go into panic mode. Even if he can't remember what that reason is. He can't pinpoint the memories that Keiji's taken from him, either, and, belated, Koutarou feels the tingling in his fingers that comes from charging up other Aptitudes around him. Whatever Keiji had done, he needed a lot of power for it.

“Koutarou,” Keiji says, having recovered some himself. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Date?”

“August twenty-eighth, twenty-eighteen.”

Keiji nods, and in his relief he also lets his exhaustion show. “What happened last night?”

Koutarou's brow furrows. “We went to that networking thingy. Someone attempted to assassinate your father. Are you okay? How much juice did you _use_?”

Keiji waves him off, dismissive. “I'll be okay. About last night... Unfortunately, the attacker got away. We don't have any leads on who it could be. Do you?”

Koutarou shakes his head. “I don't know. We could go through the Aptitude records, but even those aren't comprehensive, and—”

“It's okay, Koutarou,” Keiji interrupts gently. “I'm just making sure I didn't screw something up. Do you remember our fight?”

Koutarou feels his chest tighten, and he nods.

“I'm sorry, Koutarou,” Keiji says again. “I'm sorry for my insensitivity.”

Koutarou reaches for him, and Keiji jolts, but doesn't pull away, when Koutarou places his hand on top of Keiji's, resting on Keiji's knee. “It's okay. I know you. But you can read me, right? You can tell I'm being sincere when I say that I wasn't forced into this?”

“Yes,” Keiji says softly. “Yes, I know... I just—feel guilty, is all.”

“Don't,” Koutarou says. “There's nothing for you to regret.”

Keiji smiles bitterly. “I only wish that were true.” He draws his hand away from Koutarou's and picks himself up off the bed.

“Keiji?” Koutarou calls, concern sharpening into something biting against their bond. “What happened? Why did you Reset me?”

Keiji shakes his head, not turning to look at Koutarou. “You were... Collateral, unfortunately. It's nothing. I tried to use it to my advantage. Consider it part of my apology.” Keiji pauses at the doorway. “Do you want to put your hair up? I have to go meet my father, and I thought you might take the chance to go shopping.”

“Will you be okay alone?” Koutarou asks tentatively. “After last night—”

“I'll be fine,” Keiji says without hesitation. “...I'll have your family protecting me.”

“But not _me_ ,” Koutarou says.

Keiji tilts his head at Koutarou and then chuckles. “How full of yourself are you? Do you think you can single-handedly outdo your father, sister, and countless teams of guards?”

Koutarou puffs out his cheeks and sits up, trying to make himself look bigger. “Well, maybe not _that_ good, but I am the greatest bodyguard you've ever had!”

Keiji pins him with an amused stare. “You're the _only_ bodyguard I've ever had.” He shakes his head, laughing. “Can you be ready in thirty?”

Koutarou pouts at him. “No faith. I'll be good to go in fifteen.”

 

Koutarou is certainly _not_ thinking about the Academy as he absently strolls through a grocery store, leaning on the cart as he stares at different shapes of pasta.

He certainly _not_ thinking about smirks hidden behind a dark fringe of hair and golden eyes and the tension under his skin as they crept out after curfew to get into all sorts of trouble. He's not thinking about the first person to make his heart beat faster after he got over Keiji, and he's certainly not wishing to see aforementioned person again after they'd fallen out of touch after graduation.

Maybe it's the fight with Keiji that's dragged this longing to the forefront of Koutarou's mind. Maybe it was seeing Kenma—God, he hopes he's _okay_ , Koutarou didn't get to see him after the attack last night—or maybe it's just because despite living with Keiji, Koutarou realizes he's kinda... been alone. All this time.

He'd never take Keiji for granted, but they're different, on some sort of basic level. Koutarou needs people. Keiji doesn't.

Koutarou thrives where he can be himself, uninhibited by convention or expectation. Sure, the Academy had its own rules, but they were so much more lax than the high-society games Keiji, and by extension, Koutarou, has to play. He got lucky, too, getting paired up with Kuroo for training. They made a good team, and really, only Kenma and Lev gave them any sort of competition for top of their class.

Well, only after Kenma learned to tolerate Lev.

Koutarou really did get lucky when it came to partners.

That's the thing about his life at the Academy—it exists in its own little box. Koutarou's life can easily be split into three categories: childhood, the Academy, and now.

The Academy was his taste of what his life could have been, without the weight of familial expectation. Given the choice, he'd always want to work with Keiji. But... He can't say he'd hate having a more normal life.

He remembers talking with Kuroo, late one night, during their last year. Koutarou had never worried about what his life would become after he graduated. Kuroo didn't seem to worry, either, but was in the exact opposite situation: he had no plans whatsoever. He'd admitted to Koutarou he was considering applying to colleges, but wondered if the caliber of his Aptitude would be wasted if he did something that didn't utilize it.

Koutarou reaches for a box of angel hair pasta, and absently wonders if Kuroo ever got into the natural sciences program he was interested in.

Koutarou rounds the corner to head towards the chips aisle, fully intending to snag some of the kind that Keiji doesn't like him eating because they're severely unhealthy. At least, that's what he was going to do, until, as if summoned by his thoughts, Kuroo Tetsurou bumps into the front of Koutarou's cart.

Actually, it's probably the other way around, but...

“Ah, sorry, I wasn't—” Kuroo starts, and then his gaze lands on Koutarou. His entire body freezes so abruptly that Koutarou contemplates how feasible it would be for him to unlock as new muscle-locking aspect of his Aptitude.

But then Kuroo's mouth drops open into something shocked, and he manages to choke out, “B-Bokuto?”

“Kuroo!” Koutarou finally finds his voice. “Hi!”

“Hi, Bo—”

And then, Koutarou just keeps going: “I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hit you! Where have you been? I saw Kenma last night and—oh my God, have you been with Kenma? Is he okay? I was worried. Are you okay? Were you at the party last night? Why didn't you come see me?”

Kuroo has the decency to look only a tiny bit overwhelmed by the onslaught. Koutarou promptly clamps his mouth shut. He'd forgotten that while Keiji is used to keeping up with him, probably because in most scenarios he can _literally read Koutarou's mind_ , most people work at a slower processing rate.

“Whoa,” Kuroo says. “Jesus, Bo, it hasn't even been thirty seconds since you tried to run me over. Give a guy a break, will ya?”

“Sorry,” Koutarou mumbles. He bites his lip and decides he might as well lay all his cards down on the table right here. “I just missed you.”

Kuroo snorts, but there's something fond to the tilt of his mouth. “Yeah, me too, Bo. Kenma's fine, by the way.” He rubs the back of his neck, awkward. “You—uh, what was it you wanted to know?”

Koutarou blinks at him. “How you are?”

Kuroo blinks back, once, and then his mouth tilts into an easy grin, and his shoulders shake with silent laughter. It's not the kind of laugh that means Kuroo's found something absolutely hilarious, but instead the kind of quiet snickers that exude _fondness_. Christ, Koutarou missed him.

“I'm good, Bo,” Kuroo finally says. He stalks around the end of Koutarou's cart, fingers trailing over the metal absently as he eases closer. “Traveled a bit. Picked up jobs here and there. Found something more... solid with Kenma and Lev about a year after graduation.”

“What about university?” Koutarou blurts.

“Ah, it didn't really work out,” Kuroo says. There's disappointment in his voice, but it's paired with something harsher. Conviction, maybe, if Koutarou had to place it. “It's fine. I found something I'm good at.”

“What's that?” Koutarou asks.

“Well...” Kuroo hesitates, not meeting Koutarou's eyes. “What, am I under investigation, here? What's with all the questions? What about you, huh?”

Koutarou snorts. “I've been working for the Akaashi family since I got out of the Academy.”

Kuroo stiffens, and Koutarou watches as a weak smile pulls at his lips, only barely managing to overtake some other expression. “Oh? How is that?”

“Great!” Koutarou announces. “Keiji is great... Even if he judges my taste in chips.”

Kuroo heaves out a breath of laughter, and Koutarou's heart warms when the lingering _something_ on his face eases into amusement. “You ever, uh—y'know... with Keiji?”

“Nah.” Koutarou wonders if that was hope he saw flicker across Kuroo's face alongside the mild surprise. “It's chill. Keiji doesn't really do... romance. Or emotions, much. Disappointment, maybe.”

Kuroo laughs again, louder this time, and Koutarou is struck by how much it means to him to hear that sound again. How much he'd taken it for granted when he made Kuroo burst out laughing in the middle of class, even if it ended with both of them being scolding because Kuroo always, _always_ took Koutarou down with him. It didn't matter, so much, if they were always in this together.

Kuroo leans his hand casually on the edge of Koutarou's cart, nearly tumbling in with the angel hair pasta except for his last-second reflexes. Koutarou almost starts forward to catch him, but Kuroo just huffs at him and straightens. “So,” he says, clearing his throat as if he didn't just attempt to become one of Koutarou's groceries. “Does that mean you're married to your work?”

“Just about,” Koutarou says, and pouts. “The only reason I'm here alone is because Keiji's at the office with his father. Otherwise, I'd be with him. Damn, and I wanted to spend time catching up, too!”

“Well, whenever you get a day off—”

“You could come over!” Koutarou interrupts excitedly. “Keiji spends most evenings at home. You could just come chill for a night!”

Kuroo hesitates, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I wouldn't want to impose on the Akaashi—”

“No, no. Keiji and I live together,” Koutarou explains. “We have an apartment downtown. He won't mind, I'm sure. Come on, Kuroo, I haven't seen you in years!”

Koutarou does his best to look innocent and pleading. It never really works on Keiji, but Kuroo's always been weak for it. He can pinpoint based on Kuroo's expression the exact moment when his resolve cracks. The strong curve of his shoulders soften, just a little, and he tilts his head to shift his bangs out of his eyes.

“Alright, fine,” Kuroo concedes, and Koutarou lets out a _whoop_ loud enough to have every other customer visible turning to stare at him.

 

Five minutes before Kuroo's set to arrive, and Koutarou is practically vibrating with excitement.

Keiji's gaze on him is something amused and fond as he watches Koutarou pace around the couch in their living room.

It's not that Koutarou's nervous. He doesn't really do nervous. He does extremes, excitement overpowering any sort of anxiety in his veins. But that also means he's undeniably restless. He wants Kuroo to _be here_ already. He wants Kuroo to be here like three hours ago, but Koutarou and Keiji had only gotten back from the Akaashi office an hour prior.

Koutarou's been ready to bounce out of his own skin since the moment he planned tonight with Kuroo, right at the end of the pasta aisle of the grocery store, with no less than three people still staring at them because Koutarou tends to be a force of nature in any public space. Koutarou is pretty sure that the only reason Keiji is still sane is because they've been together since they were children and Keiji has gotten pretty good at tuning Koutarou out.

“I haven't seen you this pumped since you got back from the Academy,” Keiji comments.

Koutarou opens his mouth to protest, but finds he doesn't really have an argument. Keiji chuckles at him.

“I can't help it,” Koutarou whines, squirming in his seat at the kitchen island. “I haven't seen Kuroo in forever! There's so much we have to make up for! Think of all the cool things we could have been doing all these years if we'd still been in contact.”

“I'm sure you'll find cool things to do now, too,” Keiji says. His voice is laced with a comforting lilt that Koutarou didn't realize he needed to hear.

Maybe he is nervous, after all.

“Just a little,” Keiji tells him, answering his thoughts. “I believe it's natural when reuniting with old friends. Things change, over time.”

“Not Kuroo,” Koutarou insists automatically. “Not like that. We're too close to let time come between us. Besides, I feel like it was just yesterday day I said goodbye at graduation—”

The doorbell rings, interrupting him, and Koutarou is flinging himself out of his seat to answer.

Keiji's faint laughter follows him out of the room.

Kuroo snickers when Koutarou flings the door open with more force than necessary. “You're still the same, huh, Bo?”

Koutarou tilts his head. “No? I wasn't really trying to, so—”

“Don't forget to let him in!” Keiji calls through the apartment.

“Right!” Koutarou says, too loud. “Come in?”

Kuroo's smile is entirely too soft. Koutarou feels warm just bearing witness to it again. It doesn't help when Kuroo places a hand on Koutarou's shoulder as he slips into the apartment, warm and friendly and familiar, despite the years between their last parting touch.

“Nice place,” Kuroo observes, slinking towards the living room. “Looks a lot better than our dorm did, that's for sure.”

“Keiji's kinda obsessive about keeping things clean,” Koutarou explains, trailing after Kuroo as he wanders.

“Great view,” Kuroo adds, dodging between the coffee table and couch to cross the room. He pauses in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows spanning one wall of the room. It's not the same view as from Fukurodani tower, but it's definitely impressive, car headlights like fairy lights twinkling far below. “Wish my place was this polished.”

“Where are you staying?” Koutarou asks curiously. He watches the shift of Kuroo's muscles under his shirt as he pulls a hand from his pocket to instead run it through his messy hair.

“Somewhere in the suburbs,” Kuroo answers. “Nothin' fancy, but it's a roof over my head. Not that I ever cared much about that. But there aren't as many stars out here in the city.”

“There aren't,” Koutarou agrees. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, considering.

But Keiji walks into the room with all the grace and flourish of the Akaashi family before Koutarou can do something stupid like offer for Kuroo to stay here, instead of whatever presumably run-down apartment he's in currently.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, I presume?” Keiji says, not unkind. His eyes are calculating but not harsh.

Kuroo turns and crosses the room in a few strides, all easy movements.

“Nice to finally meet you in person,” Kuroo says. “I mean—Bo's talked about you a lot.” He offers his hand out to Keiji.

Keiji lets his gaze run over Kuroo's lanky form, and his eyes land on his outstretched arm. “Most people would not willingly shake an Akaashi's hand without protection.”

Kuroo tilts his head and smirks. “I don't have anything to hide from you.”

Keiji studies him for a moment longer, and then reaches out to shake Kuroo's hand. When they part, Keiji narrows his eyes. “You're a braver man than I expected.” He flicks his gaze to Koutarou. “I'll leave you two alone. Office, if you need me.”

“I like him,” Kuroo announces. He licks his lips and turns to Koutarou. “So, what did you have planned?”

“Movie?” Koutarou offers, glancing towards the TV. “We have, like, a million subscription services so I'm pretty sure if it exists then we could watch it.”

Kuroo lets out a hum and saunters towards the couch, plopping down.

“There were a bunch of sci-fy shows you wanted to watch but never had time for, right? Did you ever catch up?”

“Some,” Kuroo replies. He glances over the back of the couch at Koutarou. “You sure you can sit still long enough for a show?”

Koutarou is halfway through a determined nod when he realizes the tap of his fingers against his pants leg probably give him away. Kuroo laughs and turns back to observe the TV setup. “Let's play something. It's been years since I've owned you at Smash.”

Koutarou finds himself grinning as he jumps over the back of the couch to sit next to Kuroo. “You're on. I have a lot of practice against a literal mind reader. The only way I've ever managed to beat Keiji is by hitting random buttons.”

Kuroo glances sideways at him as he reaches for the remote on the coffee table. “I thought that was what you were always doing.”

Koutarou lets out an offended half-screech. Indignant, he shoves at Kuroo's shoulder, nearly pushing Kuroo entirely off the couch. Kuroo aborts his mission for the remote and instead immediately turns back to shove at Koutarou, and they end up tussling on the couch, each trying to catch the other in a headlock.

As if either of them really care about messy hair.

They finally stop, breathing hard, when Koutarou has Kuroo pinned on his stomach to the couch cushions and Kuroo wheezes out something about being _way too old for this shit I'm like eighty at heart I can't keep up with you young'uns_.

They're wild-eyed and grinning as they boot up the game and start up an entirely new kind of tussle, only occasionally attempting to push each other off the couch as a way of trying to get the upper hand in the game battle. It's easy. Familiar.

The weight of Kuroo's shoulder, pressed against Koutarou's, feels like the puzzle piece that Koutarou didn't realize he was missing. He could clearly see the picture, sure, but it wasn't actually _complete_.

And it's here, with Kuroo, that Koutarou realizes he hasn't really been lonely. He's been homesick.

Kuroo, with all his warm smiles and gaze like embers, is Koutarou's home.

 

Koutarou can't sleep. His mind is buzzing, rejuvenated, still, after seeing Kuroo two nights ago. He's probably been grating on Keiji's nerves for the past two days with how much he can't _not_ think about Kuroo. It's been a long time since he's seen him, and he missed him so much. They'd spent so much time together at the Academy. They were partners for classes, sure, but they were best friends, too.

They'd spent... much more time together than was necessary, as evidenced by Kenma and Lev, who spent the least time together possible without failing. Though, to be fair, Kenma and Lev weren't a high bar to surpass in terms of easy companionship.

But Kuroo was—amazing. He was cool and attractive and loyal. He taught Koutarou how to better deal with his moods, once Keiji wasn't there to take care of him. He was incredibly patient with Koutarou, even if it came at the cost of a helping dose of teasing. He showed Koutarou a bit of his world, insights and memories shared under moonlight, pressed so close together that Koutarou could feel the expansion of Kuroo's chest against his arm as they watched the stars.

Shit. Koutarou realizes, belatedly, that he's had a a crush on Kuroo probably since their second year at the Academy. Sure, he'd freshly confessed to Keiji before leaving, and arrived at the Academy only a little dejected and heartbroken, but he's always recovered from slumps rather easily—or, at least, that's what Keiji tells him, even though it feels like _forever_ for Koutarou.

Looking back on all the moments, just Kuroo and him, and remembering the unbridled _content_ he'd felt. The joy and the quickening heartbeats and the sense of _I never want this moment to end, please can we stay here, together, for a little while longer_. Really, he should have figured it out much earlier.

And now, seeing Kuroo again, brings all those dumb school crush feelings back to the forefront, coupled with the fact that Koutarou, even as grown ass man, tends to feel things on a scale about ten times that of a normal person. And maybe he's kinda missing his friends at the Academy, maybe he kinda misses the constant contact of other people. Maybe, simply, he just misses Kuroo, more than he'd like to admit.

“Koutarou,” Keiji says tiredly from his doorway.

Koutarou hides his face in his hands and lets out a pained noise.

“Koutarou,” Keiji repeats quietly. “Please. You have my blessing, but for the love of God, tone down the gay. I'm trying to _sleep_.”

“Sorry,” Koutarou croaks out. He waits for the sound of the door closing.

...And waits.

Keiji sighs. Koutarou feels the bed dip as Keiji sits. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Koutarou groans. He lets his hands flop down on the bed. “...Yes... He's just so—so—”

Keiji holds up his hand. “I don't need you to say it. I got enough.”

“He's so—” Koutarou continues on anyway. He can't imagine how Keiji would be able to read anything from the state his mind is in. Everything he's thinking is just a cloud of Kuroo-thoughts. The slope of his shoulders and the curve of his smile and the way his eyes crinkle when he's absolutely _delighted_. The way his amber gaze turns milky silver under the moonlight, the attractive cut of his jaw, the warmth of his shoulder pressing into Koutarou's.

Kuroo, in general, all lanky and lithe and predatory. Koutarou wonders if his lips would be as warm as the rest of him, if his touch as electrifying as the arrow-spark of his Aptitude.

“ _Please_ ,” Keiji begs, shuddering. “Koutarou, I'm dying. Don't let this go any further. Or at least continue in _private_.”

Koutarou tentatively activates his Aptitude, pulling in his straying thoughts.

“Thank you,” Keiji breathes.

Koutarou huffs and turns over, halfheartedly attempting smother himself in his own pillow.

“You can still talk, if you'd like. Provided you avoid certain... aspects of your attraction.”

Koutarou grunts.

Keiji rests his hand over Koutarou's calf, though the blanket separates them. Koutarou appreciates the gesture, because he knows Keiji does it purely for his benefit. It's not like Keiji's trying to read him, and Keiji doesn't particularly rely on physical contact to communicate. But he tries, for Koutarou, and it's just another part of their friendship that Koutarou will always be grateful for.

“You clearly like him,” Keiji says. “Why not, uh, ask him out? Enjoy it while you can? Missed chances, and all that?”

Koutarou flops over again only to look plaintively at Keiji. “But what if he doesn't like me?”

The corner of Keiji's mouth twitches. “What is there not to like?”

Koutarou snorts, disbelieving.

“Really, Koutarou,” Keiji says softly. “I—I know there are things I will never be able to give you. Not just romance, but in other aspects of our relationship, too. I feel indebted—”

Keiji cuts himself off with a small noise, hand clenching into a fist over the bedspread before he forcibly relaxes it. “What I mean to say is... If you can find someone who makes you happy. Who can give you what you need. Then you should pursue them.”

Koutarou considers this for a moment. Sure, sometimes it gets lonely, with only Keiji around, when Koutarou thrives off others' energy to build up his own, but does he really need someone else?

But he also really wants Kuroo to stick around. Just seeing him once has Koutarou thinking about him constantly. He can't really imagine going back to the cold silence that just sort of... came over them after graduation. He wants Kuroo in his life again.

“Koutarou,” Keiji says. “He makes you happier than you've been in years. You miss him. You like him. None of that takes a mind reader to be able to tell. For your own sake, ask him on a date or something. At the worst, he turns you down and you're still friends.”

Koutarou pouts, all the same. “Do you know something I don't?”

Keiji stiffens, and Koutarou raises his head to quirk an eyebrow at Keiji.

Keiji swallows and turns away. “If you're worried about him being interested in you—in any capacity—I promise you that there's no room for doubt. You seem to forget that he let me get a full read on him the other night.” He shivers, and Koutarou sees the silhouette of his expression twist into something displeased. “There are things I personally don't want to repeat—or particularly think about—but I think you'd like them if you knew.”

Koutarou leans on his elbows. “What things?”

Keiji turns to him with a sour expression. “Things that I'd prefer you engage in when I am not within a fifty meter radius so I don't have to listen to your thoughts about them.”

Koutarou tilts his head. He double-checks the strength of his Aptitude, making sure Keiji won't be able to read his thoughts. Won't be able to tell for sure if he's teasing. He takes a little bit of derisive pleasure in exasperating Keiji sometimes. “I'm not sure what you mean?”

Keiji sighs, loudly and pained. He meets Koutarou's gaze with a sort of angry exhaustion. “He wants to fuck you, Koutarou. Now can I please go to sleep?”

Koutarou grins at him, probably too smug to actually get away with playing dumb. Keiji's eyes narrow into a glare, and he gets up to leave with a pissy huff. “I can't believe you.”

Koutarou has to plop down and shove his face into his pillows to keep from giggling like a five-year-old.

“I wish I could Reset myself,” Keiji announces. He points at Koutarou, accusing, and Koutarou looks up at him, sobering. “Go to bed. Let me sleep. You're taking tomorrow off and asking him out.”

“But—”

“No,” Keiji snaps. “I'm ordering you to take a day off and _enjoy_ it.” Koutarou opens his mouth, but Keiji keeps going: “Or, consider yourself on the job and your assignment is to ask Kuroo out and have some fun. Relax.”

“Okay,” Koutarou relents. “Thank you, Keiji. Really.”

Keiji's expression softens. “I know, Koutarou. Good night.”

“'Night, Keiji.”

 

Kuroo blows steam from the top of his mug, eyes pinned on Koutarou as he sips his coffee. “So I get you to myself for the whole day?”

Koutarou nods and stirs an extra packet of sugar into his cup. “Keiji's banned me from being within a fifty meter radius of him for the day.”

Kuroo snorts. “Why's that?”

Koutarou shrugs. He pouts a little, watching the foam swirl on top of his coffee. He lifts it to his lips and drinks most of it in one go. “My thoughts probably leak a lot more when I'm excited.”

Kuroo quirks an eyebrow at him. “I make you excited?”

Koutarou feels his cheeks warm, and he sinks a little in his seat. “...Maybe.”

“Bo, you aren't getting shy on me _now_ , are you?” Kuroo laughs. “You're not allowed to be shy. Not after spring break freshman year.”

Koutarou bolts up. “You stole my towel, you ass!”

Kuroo points at him, brow furrowing. “You stole mine first!”

“That was an accident!” Koutarou protests loudly.

Kuroo scoffs. “A likely story. Either way, we both ended up running naked through the dorms at least once, so we're even.”

“We are _not_ even! I had to climb up to the roof like that because you locked me out of our room!”

Kuroo's hand flies up to try and stifle his laughter. His shoulders shake with it. “I'd forgotten about that,” he manages. “Oh my God.”

Koutarou leans back in his seat and crosses his arms, glaring at Kuroo. “Selective fuckin' memory if I ever saw it.”

“Listen, Bo,” Kuroo chokes out between giggles. “You know everything... I do for you is out of love. No one messed with you until graduation because everyone knew you had the best dick on campus!”

Koutarou, impossibly, feels his face flush again. “ _This_ is why Keiji needs a fifty meter buffer zone,” he mutters.

Kuroo leans his chin on his palm, resting his elbow on the table. “Or, well,” he continues. “At least in the range of top five dicks.”

Koutarou makes an indignant sound. “How would you know?”

Kuroo shrugs and lifts his mug to his lips with his free hand, blinking coyly over the rim. “I've been around a bit... We weren't together _all_ the time, you know.”

“You never dated anyone,” Koutarou blurts. “You just...?”

Kuroo sets his mug down; his finger traces absently along the rim. “Well, yeah...” His gaze flicks up to Koutarou and then to the window, then down to his drink. “I, uh... Wasn't really trying to date. Just trying to get over you.”

Koutarou's heart catches in his throat, beats double-time against his adam's apple. “You _liked_ me?” he squawks, far louder than necessary.

Kuroo looks up at him, exasperated. “Bo, the entire school liked you, you oblivious doof.”

Koutarou blinks at him, unable to muster up the mental capacity to pick his jaw up from where it must have fallen on the table. “Oh,” he finally says weakly.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “It was probably part of your charm.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “You never changed for anyone. You were—are—confident. Engaging, cute, funny...” Kuroo suddenly ducks his head so his gaze is hidden by his bangs.

“Don't worry,” Koutarou chokes out. “I'm still—oblivious.”

Kuroo leans back and slaps a hand over his face, groaning into his palm. “Good to know,” he says in between his fingers. “Maybe you won't notice that I'm still into you.”

“Are you?” Koutarou presses.

Kuroo's hand falls away limply. Deadpan, he stares at Koutarou with what might be a little bit of horror on his face. “Of course I am, Bo. You're the one that got away.”

Koutarou licks his lips. “But you have me, right now.”

Kuroo lets out a pained noise. “Stop talking.”

“Okay,” Koutarou agrees easily, and then he's reaching across the table for Kuroo.

There's a split second where Kuroo's eyes widen, and maybe he's a mind reader, because he puts it together quick enough to shove his mug out of the way so Koutarou doesn't end up spilling it over them both when he drags Kuroo up by the collar of his shirt and pushes their lips together.

It's off, just a bit, but Kuroo's grinning against Koutarou's mouth in the next heartbeat. His hands reach up to readjust them so they're actually kissing each other properly, lips sliding against each other with a sort of tentative desperation. Bodies, confident; hearts, not so much.

It doesn't last long, either, not when they're both hunched over a table in a mostly-empty coffee shop. Kuroo pulls back first, one hand still resting at Koutarou's jaw. “We should get out of here,” he says, voice roughened into something low and alluring.

Koutarou glances between Kuroo's heady gaze and his lips. “You didn't finish your coffee.”

Kuroo snorts out a laugh, dropping his hand in favor of moving around the table and grabbing at Koutarou's wrist to drag him away. “Fuck the coffee. I have other plans to _finish_ now.”

 

They've managed to sneak up to the roof of an abandoned building. Koutarou has no idea how they got here, no idea whose idea it was, and has no idea why either of those questions even matter in the first place. Kuroo hoists himself up onto the concrete barrier surrounding the roof, swinging his legs over easily. He's comfortable, here, Koutarou realizes belatedly: that this urban disaster, all jagged edges and terrifying drops, are familiar to him.

Not for the first time, Koutarou wonders what's happened in the years lost between them.

But, perhaps, they have a chance to make up for it now.

Kuroo pops open one of the bottles of beer they snagged before heading up here by catching the bottle cap rim on the concrete edge. He takes a swig and then turns to look at Koutarou with a displeased expression on his face. “We should have bought ice.”

“Do you like it here?” Koutarou asks, because he's never really had a good brain-to-mouth filter. Maybe that's why Keiji likes him. His words are as honest as his thoughts.

Kuroo quirks an eyebrow at him, then turns back around, patting at the space next to him on the wall in an indication for Koutarou to join him. He goes, of course he does, albeit a bit more carefully settling into a sitting position with his legs hanging over the gaping drop below them.

“I suppose,” Kuroo finally answers, passing Koutarou an unopened beer.

Koutarou looks pointedly between Kuroo and his outstretched hand. Kuroo sighs, and then passes Koutarou his own bottle to hold while he opens the new one.

When they're done shuffling drinks around and Koutarou has a mouthful of warm, vaguely unpleasant beer, Kuroo continues: “The skyline always looks nice. But I don't think anything beats Amsterdam for me.”

Koutarou splutters for a moment. “You've been to Amsterdam?”

Kuroo shrugs, nonchalant. “I've been a lot of places.” He glances sideways at Koutarou, calculating. “You haven't? I would have assumed you traveled a lot with the Akaashi title on your back.”

Koutarou's turn to shrug. “Most business is local, and Keiji's father tends to do the most traveling.”

Kuroo hums at that, turning back to watch the sky. The sun is just starting to set below the geometric horizon, all rectangles and sharp lines from the skyline.

“Where else?” Koutarou asks, tilting his head to study Kuroo's profile.

“Lots of Europe,” Kuroo says. “Some of South America. Peru is fun. You should...” Kuroo trails off. “If you can, I guess. Maybe someday. We should go somewhere.”

“Yeah?” Koutarou chirps. “Where'd you take me?”

Kuroo turns to look at him and takes a long swig of his drink. “You'd like Paris, I think. And London, probably. The markets in Mexico. You like it when there's always things happening.”

“Things happen in all sorts of places,” Koutarou says. “With that attack recently, I kinda wish there was less happening. Keiji's just going on as if nothing happened at all. You, too! You're not spooked at all?”

Kuroo's gaze falls. “ _You're_ the bodyguard,” he chuckles out. “Shouldn't you be the least affected?”

Koutarou grunts, noncommittal.

Kuroo takes another drink. “Maybe Amsterdam would be the best place, then.”

“Why's that?”

“It's just... It's a city, don't get me wrong, but it's serene. Sure there's pockets of nightlife and stuff—really _great_ nightlife, I might add—but you could walk for hours along the canals just watching the stars reflect off the water.”

“That sounds nice,” Koutarou agrees. He watches Kuroo tip back the bottle, eyes following the curve of his jaw and the bob of his adam's apple. “Hey, Kuroo, can we make out?”

Kuroo nearly spits out a mouthful of warm beer. “Shit, yeah we can—just—maybe not while at risk of—” Kuroo scrambles to set down his beer and get back onto the safer level of the roof. He tugs Koutarou off the ledge with him.

Koutarou ends up with Kuroo in his lap, leaning against the concrete barrier while the sky melts from the color of glowing embers to dazzling amethysts. Their kisses melt, too, from slow and exploratory to heated and hungry. Koutarou has one hand at Kuroo's waist, the other tangled in Kuroo's hair, angling his head so their kisses deepen. Kuroo whispers against Koutarou's lips, alternatively sweet and dirty. It makes Koutarou's head spin with desire, with affection, in turn.

And, just like all those years ago, Koutarou can only wish that this moment, right here, caught in the setting sun and Kuroo's arms, would last for the rest of his life.

 

Koutarou eyes the glass in Keiji's hand warily.

Keiji doesn't drink.

And yet, here he is.

With a sharp glance out of the corner of his eye, Keiji instantly freezes Koutarou's tongue against his teeth. Their bond pushes harshly on Koutarou's ribs: a warning.

It's only been three weeks since the attack. Security is tight as ever. Koutarou shouldn't need to feel as on edge as he does, and yet...

It hits him. It's not _his_ anxiety. It's Keiji's.

 _Why_?

“How are things on your end?” Suga, one of the Karasuno representatives, asks, a pleasant smile charming his lips. He's just finished explaining some deal of some sort. Koutarou catches names he's heard in passing but never really paid any attention to. His job is to protect Keiji, not keep up with his elaborate business relationships.

Keiji hums noncommittally. “As well as they can,” he answers. “There's been a few hitches here and there.”

“I trust my contact has been reliable, at least?” Suga's mouth tilts into a far more serious expression. “I wouldn't want any... bad publicity.”

“I assure you that they've maintained the utmost discretion. As have I,” Keiji answers smoothly. “If you have any concerns, you're welcome to send them to me.”

Suga's face lights up again, all traces of the grave expression he had immediately gone. “None at all. Glad to be of service.”

“I appreciate it,” Keiji says, voice going soft and vulnerable for a moment. Koutarou quirks an eyebrow at him. Keiji ignores it.

Suga nods, and then his gaze flicks over Keiji's shoulder, past Koutarou. “Ah—”

Before he manages any words, there's a body shoving past Koutarou, sidling up to Suga and linking their arms together.

“Oikawa,” Keiji greets.

“Do you mind?” Oikawa says, already trying to drag Suga away. “Hajime won't dance with me, not that he's any good, anyway, so I'm afraid I simply have to steal Suga away. You don't need him, do you?”

“Go ahead,” Keiji replies, taking another sip of his champagne.

“Do I get a say in this?” Suga asks.

“Not at all!” Oikawa chirps, and drags him away through the crowd.

Keiji lets out a sigh, looking exhausted even though they've been at this function for less than an hour. “Now just...” He turns towards Koutarou and his gaze locks onto something over his shoulder. Lips pressed into a thin line, Keiji reaches for Koutarou's sleeve. “We should...”

But he doesn't actually say what they _should_ do. Instead, he tugs forcefully at Koutarou, pulling him away.

“Keiji, are you—” Koutarou looks desperately over his shoulder, trying to find what spooked Keiji so much. Another attacker? There's no warnings over his headset from his family, yet. Koutarou catches a glimpse of messy black hair, a flash of amber eyes. “Was that Kuroo?” A memory—faint, faded by force—scratches at the edges of his mind.

“No,” Keiji states, curt, and pulls Koutarou faster. Their bond twists painfully in Koutarou's chest, a stab of a knife next to his heart. He's suddenly very aware that Keiji is lying.

They nearly run into two men with dark hair with how roughly Keiji is pulling them towards the side of the room. Daichi's expression is immediately concerned when he sees Keiji, hand reaching out to steady Keiji's shoulder.

“Akaashi,” greets Iwaizumi.

Keiji makes a face.

“Are you alright?” Daichi asks.

“The name, please,” Keiji says softly. “Not tonight—” His jaw snaps shut.

Suddenly, Keiji throws back the rest of the contents of his glass, making a face as soon as he's done.

“Jesus,” Iwaizumi says. “You know, you don't have to do this.”

“It's too late,” Keiji says. “I've already made all the arrangements. I'm not failing again.”

Daichi rubs at his shoulder comfortingly.

“What...” Koutarou says around a tongue that feels like cotton. “Is going on?”

“Where is he?” Daichi asks.

“Alone, by now, hopefully,” Keiji answers, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the guests. “He must be, otherwise this won't work.”

“Oikawa is no fluke,” Iwaizumi says stiffly. “He's a piece of shit, but he's reliable.”

“I know,” Keiji sighs out.

“What,” Koutarou grits out. “Keiji, what's happening?”

Keiji finally looks at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. His gaze is just a bit wild when he stares at Koutarou—through him, maybe? Keiji has always been able to see through Koutarou's heart, his mind, all of him. Why would now be any different?

Except Koutarou has never seen him quite like this. Frustrated, annoyed, maybe even angry, but never—never _scared_.

“Keiji,” Koutarou says as gently as he can given the panic running through his veins. “Are you in danger?”

Keiji lets out a breathy noise. It takes Koutarou a moment to realize it's a laugh. “No, Koutarou. Please don't worry. Everything will be fine.” His eyes fall close. “I'm so sorry about this.”

“What are you talking about?” Koutarou pleads.

Keiji reaches for Koutarou's hand, and it's only the warmth of his skin that makes Koutarou realize that Keiji's removed his gloves.

“God,” Keiji murmurs. “You love him, don't you?”

“What?” Koutarou reaches for Keiji's shoulder. Maybe he can literally shake some sense into him.

Keiji's brow furrows, and then he opens his eyes. He's staring at Koutarou with sorrow in his gaze. “I shouldn't have—”

And that's when Koutarou realizes. He yanks his hand from Keiji's grip, scrambling back to put distance between them. That's the thing about Keiji—sometimes he thinks the best way to deal with his problems isn't to tackle them, but to give himself a do-over. Sometimes Koutarou agrees. Other times, like now, he's not going to let Keiji Reset him without giving him any answers.

“ _What are you doing_?” Koutarou hisses.

“Koutarou, please,” Keiji says softly, still reaching for him. Behind him, Iwaizumi and Daichi look conflicted as to whether they should intervene. “It's for the best. Otherwise, you'll just... I can't get rid of the old memories, but I can erase the recent weeks. You won't have to think about losing him.”

“You're talking about Kuroo,” Koutarou states. “Why? Why is he here?”

“He doesn't know,” Iwaizumi realizes. “Aka—you didn't tell him? Of all people, you left your _bodyguard_ in the dark?”

“He's bound to the Akaashi line,” Keiji snaps. “And he's—he's—” Keiji falters, expression going pained. “He's good. Unlike the rest of us. This world—my family—didn't poison him like it did me.”

“Your reasons are your own,” Daichi says.

Iwaizumi glares at him. “Would you keep things from Suga? Would you be okay if he kept things from you?”

Daichi blanches.

“That's what I thought,” Iwaizumi grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Kou—” Keiji starts, but the rest of the name is cut off by a loud crash.

Koutarou's head automatically whips around to look towards the sound—across the room, where Oikawa and Suga and—Kenma?—are apologizing profusely to hotel staff for knocking over a vase. Koutarou watches as Kenma slips away from where Oikawa and Suga are convincing a number of guards posted by the Akaashi family to help them clean up the damage.

Koutarou is in so, so deep. Whatever's happening—everyone's in on it. All but him. Because for some reason, Keiji didn't trust him. Because of his— _their—_ bond.

Which means...

Koutarou's head whips back around to stare at Keiji.

Whatever is happening, the Akaashi family is in danger.

The knowledge pulses through Koutarou, body and bond singing with the need to protect. But who? If this is an attack, and Keiji knew, then he'd (or at least Koutarou hopes he would) be more concerned for his own safety.

Koutarou turns just in time to see Kenma slip from the room, disappearing into some back hallway of the building. And then Koutarou sees his father and sister, hurrying towards a different door.

“Shit,” Keiji breathes.

And it clicks.

Before Koutarou can bolt after his family, someone grabs his arms, holding them in place behind his back.

It would have been the first time he ever willingly left Keiji's side.

Daichi hurries past them, slipping through the ongoing party after the other members of the Bokuto family. The dancing and talking and drinking carries on before them as if nothing is going wrong. As if an Akaashi isn't likely to die at any moment.

“Please, Koutarou,” Keiji pleads, and suddenly he's in Koutarou's line of sight, fingers skimming anxiously, desperately over Koutarou's shoulders, ghosting over the skin of his neck, jaw, ears. “Please, you have to... let this happen. I can erase it. I can make it better. Please. Please, don't—”

“Don't _what_?” Koutarou spits. “Don't stand by while someone gets hurt?”

Keiji's breath hitches in his chest, a choked little sound that it's the first step to him falling apart. “You don't know what he's _done_ , Koutarou. The people he's hurt. So just let Kuroo fin—” Keiji's mouth clicks shut.

“ _What_?” Koutarou hisses, and he doesn't let Keiji keep talking this time. He calls on his Aptitude and sucks away all the static in the air with as much sudden force as he can.

Keiji stumbles away, pressing a hand to his temple and letting out a pained groan. Iwaizumi, behind Koutarou, grunts and his grip goes slack enough for Koutarou to rip his arms free.

He's bolting across the room before either of them can grab him again.

He doesn't care if he's making a scene, slamming the doors open. Why didn't his family call for backup—

Koutarou doesn't have his earpiece. He swore he had it—

Fuck it. It doesn't matter.

He's not letting Kuroo hurt someone any more than he's letting the Akaashi family get hurt.

Koutarou turns a corner and finds himself in a corridor of hotel rooms. So he'll check them all, then. This wing of the hotel is supposed to be reserved for the party guests, so no one should be in their rooms now. Koutarou tries the first door. Locked.

Koutarou takes two steps back, inhales, and then kicks hard at the door.

It gives with a petulant crack, listing open immediately.

Empty.

Onto the next.

Occasionally, Koutarou gets lucky with unlocked doors, but those don't seem to even be checked into. He's halfway down the hall when he hears something.

The sizzle of electricity, the tang of fire in the air. Koutarou follows the sound—and then voices—to a room further down the hall.

“God,” Koutarou hears Kuroo say through the door. “If there were ever a man I took joy in killing... You take the cake, my friend.”

Koutarou doesn't even try the door before he kicks it open.

There's a _snap-crack_ as Kuroo's Aptitude fizzles apart in wild sparks.

The head of the Akaashi household is kneeling on the ground in a sparse hotel room, limbs bound. There's duct tape over his mouth. His eyes, however, are still as indignant and free as ever, refusing to give in even now.

Kuroo stares at Koutarou. “What are you doing here, Bo?”

Koutarou scans his eyes over the room. “My fucking job.”

Electricity snaps between Kuroo's fingers. “What a coincidence. Me too,” he says in that velvet voice he reserves for talking his way out of trouble. “Preferably, I'd like to continue alone.”

Koutarou feels his mouth twist into a sneer. “Not going to happen. You're going to walk away from this room and not look back.”

Kuroo smirks at him, feral and hungry and sorrowful all at once. “Of course I am. After I finish up my work here.”

Koutarou's eyes burn from the flash of lightning in Kuroo's hands.

And then it falls apart, scattered diamonds of light slipping between Kuroo's fingers as Koutarou's Aptitude pulls the power from him.

Kuroo clutches at his chest, swaying slightly. “Bo, listen—this is— _ugh—_ “

From the ground, Keiji's father lets out a groan. Koutarou lets up on the strength of his Aptitude.

“Bo, listen to me,” Kuroo gasps, recovering. “You know me, and you know Keiji. We wouldn't be doing this without good reason. I'm asking you to trust us.”

“Yeah? And who decided to trust me enough to tell me anything?” Koutarou snarls. He moves to stand between Kuroo and Keiji's father.

“We—we knew you'd be against it. Your family, your bond... we weren't going to put you in the position of choosing us over your pledge to the Akaashi family. There are consequences.”

“Isn't that my choice to make?” Koutarou asks pointedly.

“It is,” Kuroo admits, but continues talking. “But in that case you need the full picture.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“His Aptitude—it's not natural. It's not his.”

Koutarou falters. “What?”

“It's stolen. Maybe from Keiji, even. But I know he's tortured so many, probably used your family as a means to get it. There's other things, too, but Keiji was done watching people suffer, was done answering to a man without any regard for others.”

And then Kuroo keeps talking. Disgust and horror settle against Koutarou's bones the longer he listens. There are names, mentioned, perhaps people that Kuroo or Keiji knew personally, and Keiji's name is spoken far too many times in far too many different yet equally terrifying scenarios for Koutarou's comfort.

“Enough,” Koutarou says softly. He turns, slowly, but doubles down on his Aptitude to keep Kuroo incapacitated. He hears a soft sound as Kuroo plops onto the bed with a pained whine. “Still, that means you bring justice into your own hands?”

“You don't get it...” Kuroo wheezes. “He's evaded justice for _years_. If you won't let me... do this for Keiji, then do it for the... thousands he's hurt, Bo. The world is better off without him.”

Koutarou watches Keiji's father.

It's not that he doesn't believe Kuroo or Keiji. As much as his gut twists with unpleasant betrayal, he knows them both. Kuroo is right; Keiji wouldn't instigate something like this without reason. Koutarou believes him, even if it was never spoken to him directly.

The problem, then, is whether he can idly stand by while he watches someone else weigh blame. They're playing god here, as if lives are something to be toyed with.

And yet—this man has done that. He's taken advantage of his name, used it to abuse others. The pain of ripping an Aptitude out of someone is excruciating... and to find a way to repurpose it into a new body... Koutarou doesn't know how he managed it, but horror simmers in his veins at the thought.

Koutarou inhales slowly. Still, he can't just let Kuroo take this man's life.

Even if he has, ultimately, decided that he deserves to die.

Suddenly, Koutarou is _furious_.

How dare this—this— _monster—_ play with Aptitudes like some mad scientist, and likely play with the lives attached to those powers. Whatever his motives, its no excuse for hurting others. For hurting Keiji.

“Kuroo, get out of here,” Koutarou says. He feels his Aptitude thrum through his blood, skin prickling with the intensity of it.

“Bo—” Kuroo starts, but his voice is weak, body struggling to fight against Koutarou's Aptitude stealing its strength.

“Get out,” Koutarou growls. He doesn't turn his gaze away from Kuroo's target, the head of the Akaashi family staring resolutely up at Koutarou. Koutarou has read that same expression on Keiji a million times. At one point, he'd thought it was impassive, indifference. Now: dark shadows under a spotless exterior, secrets weighing heavily on a guilty heart.

“Get out,” Koutarou repeats. “Or I'll end up killing you, too.”

Behind him, Kuroo groans, but Koutarou hears him stumble to his feet. The door closes behind him, too loud for the significance of the scene before Koutarou.

How long had Keiji known? How long had Keiji let him go on, blindly believing his life was dedicated to some noble cause? Did Koutarou's own family have a part in this dark history?

Does it _matter_?

No—not now—not when Koutarou is taking this moment to choose to do the right thing.

Keiji and Kuroo are the ones with Aptitudes that can easily do heavy damage, but Koutarou isn't harmless. He's never tried to kill someone before, and for a heartbeat, nerves skitter through him, only barely managing to overpower the anger.

Setting his shoulders, Koutarou walks towards Keiji's father. With Koutarou here, even the powerful Akaashi Aptitude is useless, and the ropes binding his hands still hold as he kneels in front of Koutarou.

This isn't a man. This is a monster.

Koutarou doesn't feel any sort of shame or regret as he brings his hand to rest on the forehead of a man who deserves to go to hell. And here, staring death in the face, even the head of the Akaashi family feels fear. Koutarou can see it in his eyes.

With his other hand, Koutarou rips the duct tape from the man's lips.

“You wouldn't do this,” he starts immediately. “You're bound to protect me.”

Koutarou watches him, feeling the sweat of his skin against his fingertips. “I serve the Akaashi family line. Not you. I am bound to Akaashi Keiji and his successors, if any. Unlike you, I respect the Akaashi family name.”

“This is a betrayal. Keiji would—”

“Don't you dare,” Koutarou spits. “Don't you dare say his name. You don't deserve to.”

“I'm his father—”

“You're his _jailer_ ,” Koutarou hisses, leaning forward. “Any last words?” Koutarou waits for only a second. “Actually, you know what? You don't deserve any.”

And with that, Koutarou focuses as much of his Aptitude as he can on the point of contact where his fingertips meet flesh.

It's one thing for the Bokuto family Aptitude to consume the lightning in the air, to suck the power from an attacker, to eat away at power sources with the sort of gluttony reserved for sinners.

It's another matter entirely to literally rip an Aptitude from a body.

Koutarou knows that using the dampening aspect of Aptitude on others in mild doses can cause pain, so he really can't imagine what it's like when he latches on to the stolen Aptitude in this shell of a man, tears it from his skin and bones and blood. He supposes it must be soul-wrenching, if the screams are anything to go by.

When Koutarou pulls his hand away, his entire body is buzzing with the force of his Aptitude, electrifying and wild like a live thing in his rib cage. He feels it beating against his bones, livewire and magic and powerful. At least, until something in his chest pulls tight, tight, and then snaps.

The last thing Koutarou processes is the faint _thud_ of a body hitting the floor. He's not sure if it's his own.

 

Koutaoru dreams of storms—of lightning striking across his skin—of the shock of static in the air, standing his hair on end—of the brush of lips charged with energy—of the weight of a life in his own hands, pulsing and electric.

When he wakes, it's with a start.

He feels like there's a gaping hole in his chest.

Something's missing.

He can't feel Keiji.

He can't—

Where's Kuroo—

What happened—

Akaashi—

“Koutarou, breath.”

Koutarou does as he's instructed, heaving in a great lungful of air. The thin sheet draped over him feels like _too much_ , and he kicks it off wildly, sitting up quickly enough to make his head spin. His eyes slowly adjust to the dim of the room.

“Koutarou, you're safe. It's okay.”

“Keiji.” Koutarou almost sobs with relief when he realizes. His vision finally makes out the slim form of Keiji, sitting in a chair next to Koutarou's bed. He's in his room. In their apartment.

What about Kuroo?

What—what is—

Koutarou claws at his shirt, eventually getting it over his head, and looks down to inspect his chest. There's no damage that he can see. Koutarou reaches towards for the side table, but Keiji is already up, turning on the lamp light for him.

Koutarou turns back to his own body, fingers grazing over his skin. A bruise, maybe? No, that's just the shadows—

“What the _fuck_ ,” Koutarou chokes out.

“I know,” Keiji says softly. He moves to sit next to Koutarou on the bed, a hand clutching at his own chest in turn. “I feel it, too.”

“Was... _I_ did this?”

Keiji nods. “When you... I believe the bond interpreted your actions as a betrayal to the Akaashi line. I presume the pain will fade with time,” Keiji says. “Or, well, I hope. I don't want you to feel me on you like a scar for the rest of your life.”

“Keiji—” Koutarou starts.

“I know,” Keiji interrupts, smiling weakly. “It's okay, Koutarou. I don't mean it like that. I suppose I should be thanking you.”

“For... killing...” Koutarou swallows hard.

“I owe you a better explanation than what I gave you, too,” Keiji says. “I just... Forgive me, Koutarou, but I think I need some time to get everything in order.”

“Are you okay?” Koutarou watches emotion, unreadable, flash across Keiji's face.

Keiji takes in a measured breath. “I am more okay than I have been in a long time. It's a step in the right direction. And you—breaking our bond—that was more than I could hope for.”

“I'm still your friend,” Koutarou states.

“I know,” Keiji says. He blinks at Koutarou, gaze a mixture of sad and hopeful. “But now that's your choice.”

Koutarou takes in a deep breath and looks down at his hands. “Is... he actually dead?”

“Yes,” Keiji says. “Thank you, Koutarou.”

Koutarou chokes on his own breath, feeling his eyes burn with unshed tears. Don't think about it. A necessary evil. He wasn't a good man.

“I, uh...” Keiji pauses, and shifts his body to better face Koutarou. “I owe you an explanation, about Kuroo.”

Koutarou's head whips up. “Is he okay?”

“I hired Kuroo to assassinate my father,” Keiji explains. His voice is level, almost monotone. “Sugawara got me in contact with him and Kenma, who have been working under the Nekoma name. Originally, only Kenma and Kuroo were involved, but... that attempt failed. I wasn't going to let him get away a second time, so I got others involved, but Kuroo remained the pivotal point of attack.”

Keiji sighs softly. “I wasn't... I didn't realize you'd known him. That you were close. I know that killing my father was selfishly motivated, but... Koutarou you have to understand that everything else I did was for you. You deserve far better than me. It's just... When it was _Kuroo_ , of all people, I wasn't sure what to do. But I wanted you to be happy. That's still true, even...”

Keiji trails off into silence, hands twitching where they rest on his thighs.

“Keiji...?”

“I will fix this,” Keiji states, with conviction. “I will get him back.”

“What happened to Kuroo?” Koutarou asks, concern edging into his voice. “Keiji.”

“He... was arrested. For the murder of the head of the Akaashi family.” Keiji speaks as if he's reciting what he's read on paperwork. Koutarou's breath catches harshly in his lungs.

Keiji makes a pained expression. “I'm sorry, Koutarou. I didn't mean for it to happen like this, but I needed to keep you safe. I'll fix this. I will.”

A chill snakes its way down Koutarou's back, gripping onto his spine with sharp fingers. “You—what?”

“I'm working on it,” Keiji states firmly. “I promise. I know I betrayed you by keeping you in the dark, but I'm asking you to trust me once more. I'll keep him safe.”

Those tears—the ones barely kept back from earlier—finally spill over. There's a aching cavity between his ribs, the remnants of his bond with the Akaashi family. His throat feels tight, tightening around the worry for Kuroo that's lodged against his tongue.

It's an empty threat; Koutarou would never hurt Keiji, and Keiji knows that, yet still, he chokes out:

“You better.”

 

Koutarou has never been a patient person.

So this—this purgatory of waiting for simple, one-sentence updates from Keiji—is torture.

He does his best to keep himself busy. Runs mindless errands for Keiji while he jumps through all the legal ramifications of his father's murder. Plays the dutiful bodyguard, keeping Keiji from the eyes of the press and deflecting accusations of the assassination being an inside job.

The longer it goes on, the more Koutarou feels like he's going to burst.

He tries to stay away from the news, but he still catches flickers of conversation, snippets of news reports, all degrading the Academy graduate with smokey eyes and a sly grin, whose actions only worsen the relations between those with Aptitudes and those without. Because Kuroo has power, and misused it.

If only they fucking knew.

Kuroo, who has one of the most inherently dangerous Aptitudes. Koutarou, with the Aptitude most designed to support or defend.

Kuroo, who is innocent.

Koutarou, whose hands are stained red with the blood of an Akaashi.

Kuroo, who deserves only to be happy.

Koutarou, who just wants Kuroo to be happy, safe, free.

The words, the confessions, the broken promises, however, stay trapped behind Koutarou's teeth.

 

Once, Koutarou returns from a run to find Suga lounging across the living room couch.

“Bokuto,” Suga greets cheerfully.

Koutarou takes a moment to catch his breath, peeling his sweaty shirt away from his chest. The pain of the bond, broken, has started to fade, but it's still a sharp twist of a blade near his heart. “You here to see Keiji?”

“Mm,” Suga hums. “Something like that. Daichi has been helping him cast blame away from Kuroo, but in turn as taken some suspicion himself, despite the fact he doesn't have an Aptitude and physically could not have done that sort of damage.”

Koutarou winces slightly. “Do you know?”

“That you murdered the man you swore to protect?” Suga quips. “Why, yes. I do.”

Koutarou cringes, hard, and immediately wants to curl in on himself.

“But I also think you did the right thing,” Suga continues mildly. “I think you did more than Keiji had the heart to do for years. He, and many others, suffered in silence. When Keiji finally asked for help... We listened, but you were the one who called back to him. I think you've done your job as his bonded.”

Koutarou lets out a shaky breath. “Not anymore.”

“I know,” Suga says softly. He picks himself up off the couch to come stand in front of Koutarou. He places a hand on Koutarou's chest, ignoring the sweat. “Maybe you can't feel it here, anymore. But it's there. You two knew each other for years before you became pledged. You were bonded then, too. Just like me and Dai. Just like Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Even if the ritual is broken, you're still there for each other. That's why these families are so intertwined. It's more than just a ritual and tradition. It's friendship. Family. Love. No one can take that away from you. Not even yourself.”

“Suga,” Keiji greets as he emerges from his office.

“I could make this better,” Suga continues, patting at Koutarou's chest. “For a little while, if you'd like.”

Koutarou feels something pull against him, tugging at his nerves, and then the pain in his chest dissipates, easing into emptiness.

No—nope—he doesn't like that.

Koutarou flinches away from Suga's hand, taking a couple steps back to keep Suga from reaching for him again. So, Suga's Aptitude is diminishing pain.

Except that Koutarou likes this. It's all that's left of Keiji.

“Suit yourself,” Suga says with a shrug. He turns to Keiji. “I have a bone to pick with you, Akaashi—no, don't you dare—” Suga puts his hands indignantly on his hips when Keiji opens his mouth to speak. “You're going to have to get used to the name eventually. You're going to have to rebuild it.”

Keiji sighs. “You are right, as usual. Come, we can discuss in my office.”

“Is he always like this?” Suga asks Koutarou mildly. “I feel like _I'm_ the one being scolded.”

Koutarou shrugs, but keeps his mouth closed.

Suga watches him a moment longer. “My offer stands, if you ever want it.”

Keiji glances over his shoulder at Suga. His voice is rough when he murmurs, “But you can't ease heartbreak.”

 

The days drag on.

Koutarou's never hit a slump quite as long as thing one.

It's been four weeks since the... well. It's been four weeks since Kuroo was arrested. One week since Koutarou's had any updates from Keiji.

Kenma called him, the night before, asking if Koutarou knew anything, only to have Koutarou immediately start demanding answers from Kenma the minute he'd picked up the phone.

Instead, Koutarou coaxes Kenma into telling him what's happened, over the past five years.

Kenma's quiet voice drips around the story like honey, encasing it in a sugarcoated sweetness that Koutarou realizes isn't nearly as clean-cut as Kenma makes it out to be.

Kuroo had wanted to go study. After graduating, he, Kenma, and Lev had stuck together. But Kenma and Lev had a habit of pushing at boundaries, bending rules, sometimes breaking them. Kenma's Aptitude—a living computer, master hacker—made it easy for him to get into trouble. And Lev is a powerhouse, and an enabler on top of it.

Somehow, they'd found themselves indebted to Nekoma. Kuroo and Lev became contracted soldiers, with Kenma as the brain behind their operations. It's work, maybe, but they also found a home there. It wasn't simple, wasn't easy, but they stuck together.

Koutarou asked him if Kuroo was a murderer.

Kenma said it wasn't that simple, countered with a _Are you a murderer, too, Koutarou?_

They'd ended the conversation with Kenma announcing that when— _when—_ Kuroo gets out, wherever he goes, Kenma has decided to stay here. He still has Lev, and he'd made friends with an excitable redhead from Karasuno.

Koutarou had smiled at that. And now, waking up the next morning, he thinks that maybe the dwindling ache from his broken bond with Keiji is now replaced by a tiny flame of hope.

Still, he misses Kuroo.

When he walks into the kitchen, hair messy and still in boxers, he meets Keiji's gaze, endlessly hopeful.

Keiji shakes his head, just enough to make it feel like Koutarou's lungs are being crushed.

Another day of waiting. Another day of hoping. Another day of wishing he'd done something to make this all right.

 

Koutarou remembers the press of Kuroo's lips.

He remembers their limited time, a handful of dates in the weeks between the attacks on the Akaashi fanily, wishing that he'd _known_ it was limited in the moment.

Had Kuroo known?

Surely not... Not like this.

Koutarou replays moments they shared together in his head with the new context of knowing that they were always set on different paths.

Kuroo had confessed, knowing even if he wasn't arrested, that they both had other obligations. Kuroo had kissed him, knowing they would inevitably fall apart, eventually. Kuroo had let Koutarou take him apart until they were both sated and satisfied, knowing that may have been their only chance.

Koutarou feels like he's taken it for granted.

Now, he just wants to hear Kuroo's voice. Maybe even that's too much to ask.

 

“I,” Keiji starts during breakfast, six weeks through hell, “Do not like change.”

Koutarou blinks at him, weary.

“For a very long time,” he continues, admission heavy on his tongue, “I was scared of what would happen when I went through with my plans. I was scared of the responsibility. I don't like being in the spotlight. I always run things from behind the scenes.”

Keiji stands and disappears into his office. A couple months before, Koutaoru would be restless, waiting for Keiji to return, but now, after experiencing first hand that there are worse things to have to be patient for, Koutarou simply keeps picking at his cereal. Keiji soon comes back with two envelopes in his hand.

“You, however,” Keiji says when he sits back down. “Always roll with the punches. You've stayed with me—because we're friends, yes, I understand—but also because you had to. It was your job. You were tied to it as much as you were tied to me. But we're both... free, now. You're welcome to make your own decisions. Based on your own desires, Koutarou. And don't try to argue with me about what those desires are. I already know. I know you. Even without being able to read your mind.”

Keiji slides the larger envelope across the island towards Koutarou. “This is payment for your years of service. And a thank you for your years of friendship, for all you've done for me.”

Koutarou quirks an eyebrow at him and picks up the envelope, opening it slowly.

“There are copies of all the necessary legal documents to impart half of the Akaashi inheritance to you, and I've made it a point to make you the sole stakeholder should I die without naming another successor. There's also enough euros to get you by for a while, and a plane ticket to Amsterdam. Kuroo decided there would be the best place, seeing as it would be good to keep him out of the limelight for a while.”

It takes Koutarou a moment to find his voice. He clears his throat, feeling tears well in the corners of his eyes. “The fuck, Keiji? This—this is too much—Kuroo's okay?”

“He's waiting for you in the Netherlands."

“How did you manage all of this? _Half_ of your fortune?” Koutarou screeches. He's definitely found his voice now. Too much of it, maybe, but he's overwhelmed.

“Well, it's significantly smaller for the time being,” Keiji admits. “It wasn't exactly easy to free a man accused of murder. My word, even as a... relative to the victim, is only worth so much.”

“How—how do I even thank you for this?” Koutarou chokes out, and, oh, yup, now he's crying.

Keiji reaches across the island and places his hand on top of Koutarou's. Koutarou hopes he can read every single sappy, grateful thought that's rushing through his head.

Keiji must get that thought, too, because his lips quirk into an amused smile. “You can thank me by going. Live your life the way you want to. Fall in love for real. Go on the adventures you used to dream about as a kid. You don't have to forget me, but—move on from me. Your life is more than this. You have a world to explore.”

Keiji pulls his hand back and reaches for the other envelope, sliding it towards Koutarou. “Oh, and when you see Kuroo? I want you both to read this.”

Koutarou nods, biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

“You better start packing. That plane is tomorrow. I figured you wouldn't want to wait any longer. Don't worry too much. I'll have the rest of your stuff shipped.”

“Oh my God,” Koutarou chokes out. Before he can stop himself, he's scrambling out of his chair and wrapping Keiji in the tightest hug he can manage.

Keiji's face is pressed into Koutarou's forearm, and his laughter huffs against Koutarou's skin.

“Thank you,” Koutarou breathes out continuously, like a broken record. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Keiji's laughter peters out. “You know I love you too, right, Koutarou?”

Koutarou sniffles loudly. “Of course I do. Damn it, Keiji. Thank you so much.”

Keiji pushes Koutarou gently off him. “Stop trying to think of how you can repay me. You've already done more than enough for me, Koutarou. I could ask for no better friend in this life.”

Koutarou sniffles again, clutching onto Keiji's wrists where his hands are on Koutarou's shoulders. “Okay.”

“Now go pack. You have a long trip tomorrow.” Keiji smiles at him: soft, fond, goodbye.

 

_Kuroo,_

_I'm writing this in case I am convicted of my father's murder._

_I want you to know that none of what's happened is your fault. Nor is it Koutarou's. You both deserve to be happy. I know you make him happy. I knew it the moment that Koutarou returned from the Academy, and I'd hoped that you both would find each other again. I would have preferred under different circumstances, but with any luck, everything has worked out in the end, regardless of my fate._

_Stay safe. Love with all your heart—I know that's difficult for you sometimes. But you were right, you have nothing to hide from me. You have nothing to hide from him. It's something he loves about you, too, your honesty._

_If you need anything, well, you should be able to reach Kenma. I may not be there, but I can promise I'll do my best to thank you for your sacrifices. Kenma should be able to proxy should I be unavailable._

_The university in Amsterdam is good. Pursue that degree you wanted. It's not too late to still chase dreams._

 

_To Koutarou:_

_I know that everything you gave me, you gave freely. It's that fact that makes me so resistant to it. I, of all people, do not deserve your loyalty. No Akaashi has ever been perfect, and I am no exception. I want you to put this behind you. There's a life for you, with Kuroo, in Amsterdam. It's a life I would never be able to give you, even if I wanted to._

_Take advantage of that. You always do everything at full capacity, and approach this in the same way. I know you love Kuroo. I know he loves you. Take pride in that. Live it. I know you'll both be okay._

_I'm sorry for not saying this earlier, but I'm not sure if you'll meet me again. Know I'm always your friend, as you have always been mine. I don't know how this will, ultimately, turn out, and should things not favor me, I don't want you to blame yourself._

_I did this. Not you, not Kuroo. I did. Never blame yourself for something you didn't do. I mean it when I write that: you did nothing wrong._

_I am also unsure where I intend to go from here, should I come out of this a free man. If I disappear—something I am strongly considering, if I'm honest—I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't know if you'll be able to find me. Perhaps, if you set yourself on doing so, but I don't want you to throw your life away looking for someone who doesn't want to be found._

_I'll try to keep in touch with Sugawara. If you must find me, go to him._

_Remeber that I love you Koutarou. You deserve the world. Thank you, for all you've done for me. Go, love, be loved, be happy._

_This world is a better place with you in it._

_Akaashi Keiji_

 

Tetsurou's arms slip around Koutarou's waist. He presses a kiss to Koutarou's bare shoulder. “Reminiscing?”

“Just a little,” Koutarou hums. He slips the letters back into the box he and Tetsurou have reserved for them. Puts the box back in its place on their bookshelf, where it watches over them, like a little piece of Keiji, still with them.

Keiji only sends the letters by hand, so there's only been a few since the first he sent with Koutarou, all those years ago. One was delivered by Daichi, on business to Paris and stopped by to visit. Another delivered by Oikawa and Iwaizumi, while traveling for their honeymoon. The most recent, delivered last year by Kenma, who'd come to Amsterdam for Koutarou and Tetsurou's wedding.

Koutarou turns, looping his arms over Tetsurou's head to pull him in for a quick kiss. “You should get dressed. We'll be late.”

Tetsurou makes a face. “People skip all the time. We don't _have_ to go,” Kuroo argues. He leans in, nipping lightly at Koutarou's neck. His lips brush against Koutarou's ear when he speaks, intentionally husky. “Besides, I can think so many better things we could do. I love it when you—”

Koutarou pinches his shoulder, hard enough to make Tetsurou jump with a quiet squeak. He pulls back to glare at Koutarou. “What was that for?”

“You tried to ditch the at the Academy, but you are _not_ ditching your college graduation. I won't treat you to dinner if you skip.”

Tetsurou sticks his tongue out at him. “When did you become the mature one?”

Koutarou quirks an eyebrow. “You make a dick joke every other sentence, and you think _you're_ the mature one?”

“You're like five!” Tetsurou protests, ignoring Koutarou's very valid point.

Koutarou pulls Kuroo close, effectively shutting him up but smothering his face into Koutarou's shoulder. Koutarou presses his lips to Tetsurou's temple. “I want to watch you walk the stage. I want everyone to look at you and see all that you've accomplished. I want everyone to know how proud I am of my husband.”

“You're gonna scream, aren't you,” Tetsurou mumbles into Koutarou's skin.

“Definitely,” Koutarou says cheerfully. “I'm also probably going to cry.”

“This is gonna be our wedding, all over again,” Tetsurou sighs out.

“Yeah, except this time, Tsukishima will definitely laugh at us, instead of trying to hide it.”

Tetsurou barks out a laugh and peels himself away from Koutarou's arms. “Okay, fine. You need clothes, too, you know.”

Koutarou follows Tetsurou into their bedroom.

“Yamaguchi is totally gonna bawl,” Tetsurou announces as he buttons his slacks.

Koutarou splutters out a laugh. “Really, Tetsu?”

“I'll bet on it, if you don't believe me,” Tetsurou retorts. He doesn't bother turning around to look at Koutarou when he speaks, instead glaring at the graduation gown hanging on the door of their closet.

“I believe you,” Koutarou huffs out. “I'm not gonna bet against the smartest guy walking the stage.”

Tetsurou snorts. “I think Tsukki takes that title.”

Koutarou wraps his arms around Tetsurou's waist, a reflection of their earlier position, and Tetsurou melts against him.

Koutarou kisses Tetsurou's jaw, his neck. “What about the hottest guy walking the stage? Best smile? Biggest heart? Cutest ass? Most amazing husband ever?”

“You're not over the whole _husband_ thing, yet, are you?” Tetsurou hums thoughtfully.

“Never,” Koutarou chirps.

“You're a huge sap,” Tetsurou informs him.

“Bite me,” Koutarou huffs. “You love it.”

Tetsurou hums out a little noise of acknowledgment. After a moment of silence, he asks, “You think my ass is the cutest out of the entire study body?”

Koutarou hides his grin by burying his face in Tetsurou's neck. “Well, at least the top five.”

Tetsurou goes perfectly still for a moment, and then he must realize. “Why you—”

Koutarou shoves away from him, fleeing from the room and dancing around the living room furniture to put some obstacles between him and Tetsurou.

“I'm gonna—” Kuroo huffs, stomping out of the bedroom.

Koutarou just cackles. He's been waiting _years_ to get back at Tetsurou for that.

“I can't believe you even remember that you sentimental fuck,” Tetsurou grumbles. He tries to leap over the couch at Koutarou, but Koutarou slips around the coffee table and sneaks further away, cackling.

They're late to Tetsurou's graduation, which, honestly, was to be expected. Koutarou catches Tsukishima giving Tetsurou the stink eye as he slips into his designated place among the other graduates.

Koutarou himself is safely tucked away in the audience. The seat is horrid, because they came late and all the excited parents and other assorted relatives took all the better spots. But it's fine, because Koutarou's loud enough to account for an entire family while Tetsurou walks the stage.

Another call rings out from the crowd, a quick cheer, and Koutarou's head whips towards the sound. He catches a glimpse of dark hair, shoulders a familiar slope and jaw a familiar cut. Koutarou feels his chest twinge with phantom pain, a promise long ago torn asunder. A friendship, still strong.

Akaashi Keiji, age 28, is the guardian angel of Kuroo Tetsurou and Bokuto Koutarou.

Bokuto Koutarou lives in Amsterdam with his husband. He had always thought his life was planned for him—and yet, it's the moments most unpredictable that changed him. It's the split-second decisions of trust, the memory of his best friend, the nights he spends with Tetsurou on the roof of their apartment building watching the stars.

As the ceremony comes to an end, Koutarou straightens his own tie, and goes to invite Keiji to join them for dinner. Like a ghost, he's already slipped away, disappeared again.

When they get home, there's a letter waiting on their coffee table.

 

_Congratulations. I'm so proud of you both._

_Akaashi Keiji_

 

**Author's Note:**

> notes for shit i forgot to explain b/c i was keeping it exclusively bo pov and am too lazy to go fix:  
> \- what bo offers in the very first scene is to "dampen" akaashi's reading but only enough to dull it without hurting him so he doesn't get so overwhelmed by everyone's thoughts. i probably meant to have this come into play later but then didn't end up writing it in  
> \- the bokuto aptitude also includes a "discharge" that makes a loud noise and is basically a big burst of electricity. i was planning to have bo kill akaashi's father this way originally but then decided against it but bo's sister does use it to fend off kuroo initially so i left it in.  
> \- I realized by the time i finished this that I forgot to write a scene w/ Bo asking Akaashi why he needed the boost when he reset Bo and made him forget Kuroo  
> Akaashi calls Bo collateral damage because what he was doing was instead fucking up some deal or bad shit his father was doing from far away but with him touching bo for the boost there'd be no way for him to isolate the Reset to just his father, so he took advantage and fucked w Bo's memories while he was there  
> \- in case you didn't catch it, akaashi takes bo's earpiece while they're talking  
> \- bo's family is fine, but daichi and kenma went to keep them busy while kuroo went to Do The Thing
> 
> I went from writing no stories about Amsterdam to at least two. oh no. anyway it fits and amsterdam is nice. Kuroo really would enjoy the nightlife there.


End file.
